Things We Lost In The Fire
by everythingwasblue
Summary: Mr. Litwak has always loved games. At the end of the day, they've always been there for him, even when tragedy strikes and he's feeling hopeless. (One-Shot)


**A/N**: This fic was written for a challenge! The challenge was to write from a character's point of view that you haven't written from before, or have little familiarity with. Mr. Litwak has been, quite literally, probably the only character I've _never_ written about in this fandom (especially from his point of view) so I decided to give this a whirl.

A bit of a warning: this will contain some spoilers from my other fanfiction _I'll Be Home For Christmas _(mainly chapter one, I advise reading that chapter before reading this, otherwise just go for it) as these two stories exist in the same universe. Read at your own risk! I hope you enjoy.

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_**Things We Lost In The Fire **_(One-Shot)

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Games had always been an escape for Stanley Litwak.

Ever since he was young, he was fascinated by them. They could take him to worlds unimaginable—worlds where there were no rules, no schoolwork, no responsibilities, and he absolutely loved it. When he was a teenager, video games had become the best thing since bread was invented.

He can still remember when one of his friends got the brand new Atari console. Mr. Litwak begged his mother to let him stay over his house for the weekend; she surely complied, and once Mr. Litwak got his hands on that controller, he didn't let go, no matter how much his friend whined for a turn. It was then that he became truly enamored with the world of video games.

As he grew older, video games were starting to blow up across the globe like some crazy phenomenon. He loved every second of it, and constantly stayed on top of new games being released. In fact, at one point he yearned badly to be a video game developer.

_"If I made a video game, it would sell like hotcakes!" Stan had been pacing in the living room, ranting to his grandma, while she humored him with a smile. "But Mom wants me to become a doctor. Dagnabbit, it's just not fair—__I want to make a game!"_

_"Stanley," his nana had said with an endearing smile, "fella, you can do anything you put your mind to, even if it's making a fancy game."_

_"I know! But what about Mom? She thinks it wouldn't work out!"_

_"How about you open up one of them fancy arcades, then? They are getting popular now, aren't they?"_

_"Sure they're popular, but. . . eh," he scoffed, "I think I'll stick to trying to make a game, Nana."_

_"Well, fella, someday I think you'll find that my idea isn't so bad after all." She winked._

While Mr. Litwak appreciated the sentiment of his grandmother at the time, he was never actually able to follow out his childhood dream. He fell off of the idea, learning that he'd rather _play _games than make a game. But he didn't become a doctor, either. That just was not the type of career he wanted to go after, no matter how good a paycheck it got. College wasn't for him—but he never lost sight of what he loved, and that was games. Even if he wasn't making them, he still loved them and played them all the time.

As his grandma's health declined and she slowly got weaker, he thought a lot about what she had told him when he was younger. Though he'd laughed it off at the time, it wasn't a bad idea. In fact, he had contemplated it until it started to sound like a great idea—it was pretty perfect, as he got along great with children and loved making them happy. And opening an arcade in the local area would definitely make them happy.

Being an arcade owner didn't sound so shabby to him after all.

He never forgot about that knowing little wink Nana gave him, as if she knew this was going to happen all along. Though she could act a little off her rocker at times, she always had her family's best interest at heart. She didn't seem surprised when Mr. Litwak proposed the idea to her that he would be working toward opening up his own arcade. But boy, his mother was shocked. She didn't approve whatsoever, but he didn't care. She thought video games couldn't make a living, but he was going to prove her wrong.

So he worked, worked, and worked a little more as he started to save up money. He practically worked himself into exhaustion sometimes, until he fell asleep without dinner just to make a few extra dollars—just so that he could make this new dream of owning an arcade a reality. Though Mr. Litwak's grandma couldn't remember what she'd even told him back then, he always did.

She never got to see it—she passed away a few months before it opened. That was certainly one of Mr. Litwak's biggest heartaches. His arcade was practically _dedicated _to her, and he had wanted her to be the first person to be there when it was ready. But he had a feeling she was watching, even if she wasn't there.

In June of his twenty-second year, Mr. Litwak opened up _Litwak's Family Fun Center. _It started off a bit small at first—with his very first games acquired being Asteroids, Q*bert, Pac-Man and Turbo Time. Though business was slow at first, the kids seemed to eat up Turbo Time in particular, and revenue boosted. That's when he could finally afford his next game, Fix-It Felix Jr., which also was a hit with both kids and adults alike. . . and also helped him meet a special someone.

_Mr. Litwak was sweeping the arcade with his eyes, making sure everything was right and in order. His usual, friendly smile was on his face when he heard the happy squeals of children playing their favorite games, and some first-timers experiencing them for the first time._

_That's when he heard a groan of frustration. He turned his head to see a young woman around his age standing in front of the Fix-It Felix Jr. machine. She huffed as the game sang its usual 'game over' tune. She quickly bent down and popped another quarter in, a determined look on her face, readying herself for the next round. But nothing happened. She mumbled something in annoyance before looking around for a worker_—_Mr. Litwak, of course, was standing not so far off, just staring._

_"Um. . . excuse me. Do you work here?" she asked._

_Mr. Litwak was a bit starstruck for a moment by her bright green eyes and freckled cheeks. He cleared his throat as he quickly joined her side._

_"Yep, I own the place. Did the game eat your quarter?" he asked, despite having seen it._

_He handed her a fresh quarter as she nodded. _

_"Thank you." She smiled, and he returned the smile, starting to walk away. But before he could get very far, the voice spoke up again. __"I was just curious. . . have you ever seen anyone get past level five in this game?" she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, turning her attention back to the screen._

_"Oh, I've seen it happen quite a few times," he replied, "and there's been a few times where I've gotten past it myself." _

_He refrained from bragging about the, in actuality, few _hundred _times he'd beaten that level._

_"Really? I guess I need to practice."_

_Mr. Litwak's enamor didn't wear off. He didn't even realize he was talking when he said, "Well, if you want, you could come back when the arcade's closed and I'd let you play all you want, without having to share the machine." _

When she took him up on the offer, they became great friends fast. And it wasn't much longer before they were married, either.

The years went by, and Mr. Litwak's arcade grew bigger. Kids who used to show up to his arcade in the old days were now adults, stopping in every now and then for nostalgic reasons. More high-tech games flooded into the market and into his arcade—and it shocked the man to see just how incredible game graphics were becoming.

He absolutely loved his job, but it wasn't easy sometimes. No, it wasn't because of kids crying over a lost quarter, two friends fighting over whose turn it'll be next on a game, or cleaning up at the end of the day—it had to do with the games themselves.

He always felt extreme guilt and sadness when he had to unplug a game. It became easier over the years—though the most difficult to cope with was Turbo Time and RoadBlasters leaving his establishment. Despite their popularity and money they brought in, Mr. Litwak just loved those games. After _they _got unplugged, well, getting rid of old games became something he dreaded.

It wasn't easy on him when one of his favorite games, Fix-It Felix Jr., broke down. He couldn't stand it—the game had been with him for thirty years, after all, ever since 1982. To see it go, well, that would be another hard hit to his heart. Whenever he was having a rough day, he'd slip in a quarter and play during after hours, unable to keep a straight face at the antics of the game. And, between him and the game, he thought was pretty darn good, too.

Thankfully, the problem resolved itself a day later just as the repairman came by. He couldn't help but smile as frequenters to the arcade jumped back in to playing it, and its popularity spiked once more.

And for some other reason, a character that hadn't appeared in Sugar Rush—another fan favorite—for years was back on the roster. He noticed when he was walking by, watching two kids marveling at the appearance of a 'new character.' He remembered playing 'Vanellope von Schweetz' once or twice during closed hours, but after a few months of the game being open she seemingly disappeared. Mr. Litwak only noticed when frequenters of the game started to complain about their favorite character being gone, but that spot was quickly replaced by 'King Candy.' So, Mr. Litwak left it alone. Now, that other character was gone, and Vanellope was back.

The arcade felt. . . lighter, somehow, after this occurrence—like things were back to the way they should be, like all was aglow with some strange happiness. Mr. Litwak never questioned these strange feelings—as if the games were practically smiling alongside him—but he certainly didn't complain about it either.

The years ticked by some more, as if Mr. Litwak had simply blinked his eyes and they were already gone. He was getting old, but he knew he would be running his arcade until he couldn't move anymore. The past seven years had been good to him, though, and he couldn't complain. That was, until, one fateful day in winter rolled around.

It was a chilly December night. The arcade had just closed, and he watched as the two teens who had just finished playing Hero's Duty started walking out the door.

"Thanks for letting us play another round, Mr. Litwak! We just wanted to one last time before the three week break." one called to him.

"No problem, you two. I'll see you after New Year's."

"Merry Christmas!" the other chirped, and with that, the two disappeared to the parking lot.

Mr. Litwak walked over to the front door, flipping around his OPEN sign to the CLOSED side. He kept his smile on his face as the car's headlights reflected through the glass, and then the car disappeared into the night as the light faded away. That's when the smile slipped off his face, and he turned back to his arcade.

The past few weeks had been rough on him. The trouble started when one of the children pointed out how funny Pac-Man was being. Mr. Litwak thought nothing of it at first—old games acted weird all the time, sometimes that didn't require trashing them. But when he looked at how haywire the game was acting and felt how overheated the screen was, he made the choice of putting it down until the repairman got there. His usual guy for these type of situations couldn't find out what was making the arcade console overheat and act up. In the end, Pac-Man had to be scrapped.

As a part of the originals, that definitely hurt. A few days later, Street Fighter II went down, too. The same exact situation. Graphics glitching, and it was so hot it felt like it was on fire. Mr. Litwak asked his repairman buddy about his power outlet and if that could be the problem, since it was so old, but the answer was no.

So, when not even two weeks later Fix-It Felix Jr. went down the same road, Mr. Litwak was devastated—but he certainly could see it glitching out right before his very eyes. He hesitated when he had to pull the plug. A grimace was on his face the entire as he contemplated whether or not he should do it, especially with its exceeding popularity. . . the kids loved this game, as did he. But, he couldn't endanger everyone; a moment later the plug had been pulled, and he had watched as the screen went black with immediate regret.

Still, he hadn't gotten rid of the arcade machine. It was significant to him for quite a few reasons, after all—that made it all the worser to see it not in use. If he stared closely enough, he could still see the outline of his beloved wife standing in front of it, the younger version of himself right beside her as they played until the wee hours of the night.

"Boy, do I miss you, Claire." Mr. Litwak mumbled aloud, and the memories vanished as he blinked them away.

He decided he wasn't going to get rid of the machine. He was planning on taking it home after the arcade opened back up. It would be closed for three weeks. He needed a break—and the games probably needed one, too.

Mr. Litwak ran a hand across the controls briefly, staring at his reflection in the black screen. He heaved a sigh as he remembered the good old days—he really missed them when he thought about them. When the best game out there was Asteroids, when the greatest console was Atari. . . nowadays, he couldn't really keep up with all the new technology. And in a sense, it saddened him. He had changed a bit when he became a married man. He focused on his family instead of games, because that became the most important thing in his life.

Now he felt like he was trailing through life, waiting for the next big game to come along so that he could buy it. He hated to think this, but it just didn't feel the same anymore. He preferred the classics over the new, even if the new games _were _impressive enough to knock his socks off.

His arcade had been the only thing there for him through all the heartbreak, the grief, the regrets—it had stuck with him through thick and thin, never shunning him for his bad days, and always welcoming him with open arms. He'd made so many great memories here, and he had put every last cent into this place.

This arcade was his life's work. And he was so proud of it. He wasn't so sure what he would do without it.

He finished closing up, just as he had done everyday for decades. Mr. Litwak looked back once more, just to take it all in again, and then he turned away, under the impression he would see it again in three weeks.

He was wrong.

It was five in the morning when Mr. Litwak was woken up by a phone call. And when he answered, his heart shot into his throat and didn't move. He left the phone off the hook, not bothering to change from his sleep attire.

He was out the door in an instant, hands shaking as he got his car running. There was no way, no way that what he had just heard on the phone was a reality. There was absolutely _no _way, he wasn't going to believe it until he saw it. He was hoping, praying that it wasn't true.

And that's when he saw smoke rising in the distance as he got closer to his destination. His heart left his throat and slowly started to sink to the pit of his stomach when he pulled into the familiar parking lot of his arcade. For once, he wished he wasn't where he was supposed to be.

Mr. Litwak killed the engine and hesitantly stepped out of the car, his eyes wide. His glasses reflected his worst nightmare as he stared, feeling helpless.

In the winter night, he could only watch as the building he had called his second home for so many years was being eaten by ravaging flames. The thing he had put all his money on, the thing he had put all his heart into, the thing that gave him days of countless joy was going up in smoke before his own two eyes.

The burning smell stung his nose and made his eyes water—or, was that just the natural flow of tears deciding to cascade down his face? Though firetrucks were busy putting out the flames, one could tell that it started from the inside, and every precious machine wouldn't be salvageable. A little crowd had gathered, concern in each person's face.

One of the police was talking to Mr. Litwak, but he didn't want to answer all these questions about his arcade. He didn't want this to be a reality, but instead a bad nightmare he had to wake up from.

"Do you know if there was anyone who might've wanted to cause the fire, Mr. Litwak?" the officer asked.

"No. . . no, I have no idea." Mr. Litwak responded with a frown. Who would ever want to? And if so, why not anytime sooner? This place had been here for years, and he had always treated his customers fairly. This only made him more upset to think about.

It was a little while later when another car pulled up, and by now the sun was just coming up. A young lady jumped from the driver's seat, her eyes wide as she surveyed the scene in front of her for a moment, and then she caught sight of Mr. Litwak and rushed to his side.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner. I came as fast as I could, Dad. What are you wearing? You'll get ill like that!"

Mr. Litwak came out of his daze as he turned toward his daughter, who was taking off her jacket.

"That's okay, Annie." He forced a smile as he tried to insist, but she wrapped her jacket around his shoulders anyway. He hadn't realized how cold out it actually was.

Both of them watched in silence as firefighters battled the flames. The roof was still madly smoking; the windows were shattered, and everything inside looked charred. Mr. Litwak couldn't help but partially blame himself for this. Perhaps he should've invested in a new outlet. No, it wasn't the outlet, he was sure of it—his repairman wouldn't lie to him.

The cop's words started to sink in as he thought about it. Did someone _actually_ do this? He'd been safe for years, he _always _made sure things were right as rain in his establishment. He couldn't bear think about it.

In truth, he hadn't felt this horrible since his wife had passed. He felt like a piece of him had died with his beloved arcade.

Annie and Mr. Litwak continued to watch as the sun rose overhead, until the fire was completely out.

* * *

A few days had passed since the other night. Mr. Litwak hadn't the heart to inspect the inside until now. Though the firefighters had settled on the idea that a faulty plug or outlet was the cause of the fire, the arcade owner wasn't so convinced of that.

"Alright, let's get this over with." Mr. Litwak grumbled.

He was standing outside the establishment, still in disbelief that this was _his _arcade that opened all those years ago. . . burnt to a crisp and sad.

Annie was standing next to him. She, too, was feeling the impact of the arcade's destruction. She, like her father, loved video games, and had countless happy memories of the place. To see it gone hurt her, but not like it hurt him.

Mr. Litwak peeled away some of the yellow police tape that warned CAUTION and DO NOT ENTER. He, with dread in his heart, stepped inside, his daughter not far behind.

He could barely stand the sight of it. The arcade machines, as he suspected, had been badly damaged beyond any salvaging. Some of the screens were cracked. The once cheery walls were now dreary and peeling; the roof was falling apart. Not only were all of the arcade machines wrecked, but the building was, too.

He struggled to open the door to his office—and once he did, he saw that every last piece of paperwork was gone. His computer was blackened and dead. Everything was gone.

He tried to stay calm as he backed out, trying his hardest to keep it together in front of his daughter. There was no need to look at the rest of the place. It was only good for being abandoned now.

"Dad. . ."

Mr. Litwak was massaging his temples, trying his best to keep his cool as he headed for the door.

"Not. . . not now."

"No, Dad, just—"

"I said not now." He repeated more sternly this time. "Let's go."

"Look!" Annie grabbed him just before he could leave and spun him around.

It hadn't caught his sight on the way in. Maybe because he was too horrified to notice anything aside from the charred walls, broken glass and dead machines surrounding him. But right at the end of the building, not so far into the distance, was one last machine that had been mostly unharmed.

The little morning light that peered through the building was now shining right onto it—the Fix-It Felix Jr. machine.

And for some reason, that brought Mr. Litwak the most comfort he'd felt since the incident. Though the bottom of the machine was a bit charred, and ashes were sprinkled all over it, the rest of it had seemed to survive.

"There. . . there are so many things we lost in the fire, and. . . and yet. . ." Mr. Litwak was incredulous as he trailed off.

Despite everything, that game was still standing. He shot a glance at his daughter, who was equally as stunned; the tears were now building up in her eyes, and she looked at him, too. She launched into his arms, as if she were a little girl again. Mr. Litwak was still in stun, but he quickly embraced his daughter, and he stared over at the machine again.

It was a ray of hope in times where things were bad, always. When his wife died, that's the game he went to for comfort. When his daughter got her first job and moved out, he played the game to try and forget about his worry.

And now, even when he previously thought everything he had put his heart into was burned to the ground, it still was there, comforting him, reminding him that not all had been lost after all.


End file.
